


blinding

by elliptical



Series: to own a galaxy [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Black Romance, Everyone Has Issues, Multi, Politics, Religious Fanaticism, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6283909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliptical/pseuds/elliptical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A righteous sister might find herself tangled in some mad unmirthful business if she continues to sow FUCKING HERESY all up in what should be sacred."</p><p>"Hmm.  Here's the thing, Makara."  You use his hatch name because you can, flashing a benign smile.  "I don't give a single, solitary fuck."</p><p>-</p><p>Or, the one where Terezi Pyrope and Feferi Peixes face the consequences of burning down the Empire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a note that this isn't gonna go quite the same way as canon, but as usual mind the tags. god damn
> 
>  
> 
> _felt it in my fists, in my feet_  
>  _in the hollows of my eyelids_  
>  _shaking through my skull, through my spine_  
>  _and down through my ribs_  
>  _no more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone_  
>  _no more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden_  
>  _no more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world_  
>  _-blinding, florence and the machine_

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you are a whirlwind of epic proportions. 

Which is good! Someone around here has to be competent if you're going to change the Empire, and you fully intend to change the Empire. The responsibility can't all rest on the Empress or the Second Sufferer or her other advisers. Most of the responsibility must fall to the courts, because the courts are the entities who uphold the law, and therefore have more power than any individual could ever hope to.

And the law is rather favorably disposed toward highbloods and various institutions of power right now instead of representing the commoners. As a tealblood you're considered a perfect mediator between the two groups, even though you definitely have your own agenda.

(Your own agenda is dissolving the oligarchy and throwing money at lowbloods until they can survive outside gutters and the shadow of highblood fronds. Pretty much everyone knows this. You're super unapologetic about it, because you have the Empress on your side, and therefore don't need to be anywhere near as sneaky about things as you may have been.)

(You made a good decision to toss your lot in with Her Imperious Reformation. You would have lost nothing by keeping your head down - been accepted into the legislacerator Academy under the last Empress, or been accepted as a trusted adviser to the new one should the Condesce fall. You underwent great personal risk for the sake of the rebellion because you knew that having you on their side would make the odds shift dramatically in their favor.)

(There's nothing wrong with the knowledge of your own importance. You can See things a hell of a lot more clearly than anyone gives you credit for, the outcomes of decisions and strategic moves and countermoves. Because of this, you understand how to manipulate the courts. You understand the value of your own presence. You understand the need to maintain an outwardly cold relationship with Feferi Peixes even if you talk nearly every night. You understand the ripples and shockwaves moving through the Empire, all the potential ways those could settle, an infinitely sided die.)

Right now, though, you're a little less than dignified. You fell asleep with your nose in a book. Technically it would be easier to tongue the book to read, but slobbering on ancient texts is frowned upon even for Grand High Legislacerators. Boring.

"Hey, uh." The head of your security detail, a brownblood named Mundie Absyth, gently touches your shoulder.

You sit up immediately and wipe a small line of drool from your mouth, attuned enough to Absyth's touch not to yank out a weapon. You don't call the guy by his title, High Imperial Protector, because there's a hell of a lot of those and none are quite like him. For example, you actually consider him your friend, while the other Imperial Protectors are a little too busy having sticks up their asses to make your acquaintance.

"I fell asleep," you say, rubbing your eyes even though you're sharp with the tired-adrenaline combination that always hails sleeping without sopor. You're alert enough to take on an entire family of cholerbears, but maybe not to reason effectively.

"I can see that," Absyth says. You pinch him for having the nerve to be so dryly amused. It's far from the first time he's seen you pass out while at work, and certainly won't be the last.

"Gonna head t'coon."

"Actually," he says, "the General has demanded a meeting now."

"Which one?"

"Falconer."

"Ughhh. What time is it?"

"Three in the afternoon."

"He still has to pay his slave reparations whether I'm tired or not. Court's in three nights. Tell him I'll see him then."

"I already did. He says he's willing to bow to the court as long as he can keep one boy he apparently has a fondness for."

"Ew."

"Agreed. But he managed not to hurl any slurs at me this time, so I agreed to tell you he was here. He said, and I quote, 'I thought she was less likely to have to squeeze me in between appointments at this hour.'"

"How polite of him."

Falconer doesn't give half a fuck about manners. You know this, and he knows you know this. He's hoping that he'll catch you sopor-groggy, eager enough to get him out of your hair that you acquiesce to his demands. He's also convinced himself that he's bringing you a perfectly reasonable compromise, and that you will be too prideful to admit you need sleep.

Unfortunately, he doesn't know you as well as he thinks he does. Meeting with him now reinforces the sense of seadweller entitlement, gives him the advantage of your surprise, and risks a slip of your tongue. He has a hell of a lot more to lose than you do, fins notwithstanding, and he's hoping you'll forget that.

You don't forget things.

"Tell him that I'm booked solid with recuperacoon appointments for the next five hours, and that if he wants to wait I'll be happy to meet with him as soon as I'm finished. Make sure you offer him coffee, I'd hate for a highblood to go without refreshments. Oh, but Absyth."

"Yeah?"

"Kick his ass out if he insults you. And politely remind him that court is in three nights."

You catch a whiff of pearly-white clean as Absyth grins with all his teeth. "Will do."

\---

Falconer actually waits. This outcome means he's invested in the situation rather than trying to make you slip up, which is... interesting enough to entertain you. You take your own sweet time about having your ablutions and getting dressed, and he's still waiting in one of the hard plastic chairs outside your office when you arrive. He's been through more rigorous physical strain than you ever will thanks to Imperial training and the heat of battle, but you still viciously hope that his back hurts.

"General," you say as you step into your office and settle behind your desk. "I do apologize. I need at least six solid hours of sleep before hearing your voice or I find myself in danger of wringing your neck."

Falconer very nearly snarls. You hear the breath rattle in his throat as he fights the instincts and learned responses telling him everyone sub-purple will bow to a threat display. Honestly. You hardly even insulted him. Seadwellers have the worst tempers.

You sniff, taking in other details. Not as many hints of lavender as usual, so he dressed down and he's not flaring out his fins.

Damn, he really thinks he has a shot.

"Anyway!" you say. "What's this 'all-but-one' bullshit about?"

He slides a file across your desk. You flip it open and inhale. Not a whiff of poison unless it's very cleverly disguised. A photograph and a hell of a lot of spicy pepper text. You very deliberately drag your tongue over each of the pages, making a big show of your reading process. Falconer is disgusted and horrified. It's fucking hilarious.

"I hope this wasn't your only copy," you say as you push the rather smeared file back at him.

His voice comes out strained with loathing. "Keep it."

"Aw. That's nice of you." You drop the file into the trash can beside your desk. "I already know everything I need to know. Pay your reparations. All of them."

The slave in question is a ten-sweep-old psion who burned out training for the first blueblood who took him on as helmsman. Not pretty, according to the medical records. Extensive pan damage, a lack of psionic control, should have been culled on sight. Somehow survived. Falconer took him under his wing for not-yet-explained reasons that you're certain will nauseate you, paid his medical expenses, and let him live.

Slave owners are compelled to release their slaves and repay them in five times the value of their labor for each sweep they were in service. The medical expenses tally to much greater than that. Falconer believes the psion has debt to pay off, and that he can hold that argument up in court. You can see where the logic comes from - the injury wasn't sustained under the General's care, and by Her Imperious Reformation's philosophy on culling, Falconer is ahead of the game in terms of being progressive. He's a hero! A saint! He knew how to help people before helping people was socially acceptable!

Falconer bristles. "I did more for him than anyone would..."

"You chose to take him on. Your expenses in light of that have nothing to do with the reparations you still have to pay. Did you bring the psion with you tonight?"

"What? Why would I? He's incoherent, he'll never survive on his own."

"According to the medical records, he's more than capable of communication. And you know I take into account the feelings of the lowbloods a hell of a lot more than your feelings. You would have brought him to strengthen your case for why you 'saved' him, unless you thought he'd do something to weaken the case instead. And I can't imagine why he'd weaken the case if he likes your company as much as you like his. But he wants to be freed, doesn't he?"

Aaaand there's the real snarl. Falconer braces his hands on your desk. " _He belongs to me_ ," he snaps, all bloodthirsty seadweller rather than calm strategist. " _He doesn't stop belonging to me because a few children want to play games._ Do you have any idea how long I was in the service of Her Imperious Condescension? Any idea how old I am? Any idea how much I've done for this galaxy, girl?"

"You're disgusting," you say pleasantly. "If you ever set foot in my office again, I promise I'll find grounds to have you killed. Court's in three nights. Get the fuck out."

\---

You make Falconer shell out ten times the designated labor value instead of five, because he's dragged this out and wasted everyone's fucking time, and every single one of his slaves deserves it for having to put up with him.

He tries to throw a spear into your jugular, so you follow up the verdict by stripping him of his title and exiling him, because any respected General should have at least some modicum of self control. No one contests this. It's a great night.

You're just about to break out the celebratory soporifics because fuck it, even you can stop working and take a breather sometimes, when Absyth knocks on your office door. The sharp tang of his fear hits you first. There's not a lot he's truly afraid of, and even less he's not willing to face, which is what makes him such a good head of security. Certain highbloods could learn a lot about rationality from him. But his rationality makes his fear a deeper concern, because he's never frightened without reason.

You're on your feet and gripping your cane before you give your body conscious permission to move. "What is it?"

"The..." Absyth's throat clicks. "The Grand Highblood would like to see you."

Ah. "You spoke to him?"

"He has asked that I pass on the message."

"Is he here?"

"Yes."

"Oh, for the love of fuck." You resist the urge to rake a hand through your hair. "Send him in."

"Now? He seems... perturbed."

"Has he murdered anyone in cold blood or threatened your life?"

"No."

"Then he's not perturbed. Send him in. The less time he spends tainting my courtblock, the better."

The Grand Highblood is far removed from the kid you knew at six sweeps old, but that's a surprise to no one. People change, and arguably he's changed the most, stretching to fill a mold that was made for him ages before any of you were hatched. You don't grow to head a cult of chaos without being made of chaos yourself, and Makara worships his own hurricane. It drives you crazy. He's got no time to listen to reason, and he knows he's not listening to reason, and he doesn't even _care_. You worship chaos as a means to an end, but Makara loves chaos for the sake of chaos, and...

Well, there are reasons why church and state are so wrapped up in each other, and reasons why the law has gone unchallenged for so long. There are reasons that destroying the Empire is an uphill battle, one courtroom and closed-door session at a time, and they go a hell of a lot deeper than snooty seadwellers who don't want to release their slaves.

Makara eclipses the doorway. He has to duck to fit his horns through the frame, blocking your scent with tangy grape and an undercurrent of metal. You inhale more deeply to get a clearer picture. He's not covered in blood right now, but he smells like it. Gone are the nights when all you could scent around the purple was sopor and sugar. No, he's sharp and alert despite the appearance of carelessness. Not using his powers, you'd be able to smell the fear through the hallways, but adrenaline stiffens you all the same.

You're not afraid. You're _excited_ in a way that's completely inappropriate to the current situation.

Stay calm, Pyrope. Don't lose your head.

"Highblood," you say, standing to acknowledge him and then plopping back into your chair, glad you haven't imbibed anything yet. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

"I think we can make this real quick-like," he says, and he is the Grand Highblood in every sense of the term rather than a child playing at politics. You set your shoulders straighter. When he's on top of his game, you can't afford to be off yours. Youth isn't an excuse here - you have responsibilities to uphold, promises to keep.

"Well, good," you say, leaning back in your chair. "I'm a very busy woman."

He steps uncomfortably close to the desk, crowding your space in an effort to get you to back down. You snort and don't move.

"I think we can make this real quick-like," he repeats, "'cause I am mad annoyed to be here, stewing up in this shithole where no one laughs and I ain't allowed to crack any motherfucking _jokes_ , so how about I pass on a message and move my ass back to my brothers and sisters."

He says "crack jokes" like "crack skulls." Absyth, bless his pusher, stops hovering by the door and tries to position himself between you instead.

"Sir," he starts, which is a slight all on its own, a refusal to let Your Holiness spill from his lips, "please make some room between..."

"It's all right," you say. Makara won't hurt you, but Absyth is expendable, and you don't trust someone who heads a religion of ritualized murder not to snap your friend's spine like a twig. "Leave us be, please. And close the door behind you."

Fear is still rolling off the brownblood in waves. You know Makara can smell it, probably delights in it. When Absyth hesitates, you hold up a hand.

"If he was here to kill me, he would have been much flashier about it," you say, and flash them both a gleaming smile, full of sharp teeth. "Let us meet in peace. It'll just be a few minutes."

Absyth turns stiffly away, edges into the hall, closes the office door behind him. No footsteps continue after that, so you know he's standing guard just outside, ready to dive back in should the need rise.

Imperial Protectors. Sheesh. Like a blind tealblood can't antagonize the second most powerful person in the galaxy and live to tell about it.

"I ain't about the politics," Makara says, bracing his palms flat on your desk. "And you ain't near as funny as you think you are, sister. So let's quit the games."

"I'd love to," you say, "but you haven't told me what you're here about."

"Take a wild fuckin' guess."

"I have no idea," you say, eyes wide and innocent even as a wicked grin plays at your lips. "I've been mostly taking care of seadwellers lately, and last I knew clowns and seadwellers didn't get along too well. Something about waders not being able to tell jokes?"

He slams his hands on the desk. Not with the full force of his strength, but enough to make the wood creak. Enough to make you jump. Fuck. Point to him. Or point to you for making him lose his cool, depending on how you spin the narrative.

His voice is a low timbre, almost a croon, pitched so that it shakes your bones. "You ain't the fuckin' law, sister," he says. "You and me both know it. You carry shit out, but you ain't got a leg to stand on in telling folks what they can and can't do. You didn't inherit your place like the Empress and me. You ain't done shit to earn it. You fuck up me and mine and it comes back to you. I promise you now, if you think you got a leg to stand on, I will motherfucking _cut it off._ "

You weren't expecting anything less. You fold your hands in front of you, making sure not to brush his skin. "The problem with that," you say, "is that I am very much the law if the Empress decides I am the law, and I'm much more in her good graces than you are."

He leans forward, so close that the grape and copper tang is overpowered by the cool breeze of his breath. You would have expected to smell rotten carcass, but it's just smooth wind over a field. "A righteous sister might find herself tangled in some mad unmirthful business if she continues to sow FUCKING HERESY all up in what should be sacred."

"Hmm. Here's the thing, Makara." You use his hatch name because you can, flashing a benign smile. "I don't give a single, solitary fuck."

He kisses you.

Or you kiss him, it's hard to tell. This is a dance you've been skirting since before Ascension, a clusterfuck mess with no clear winner. It's a bad idea - always a bad idea. You just hate him so _fucking much._

The hate itches under your skin, anchors in your bones. You want to fucking flay him open and make him see what you do, you want to force him to concede that his miracles are star-strewn propaganda, you want to dig down so deep you find some glimmer of a real person inside him. You know you can't achieve that any more than he could make you renounce the law and your pursuit of justice, but you _want to_ , and the frustration nearly chokes you. Makara is an unwinnable challenge, and nothing's ever interested you more than impossible odds.

You savage his bottom lip with your teeth, tangling your fingers into his hair and snarling against his mouth. It feels good, this viciousness - a chance to give yourself over to primal instinct rather than needing to be composed all the time. It feels right. You spend so much time studying and fighting and staying controlled that this anger is...

...just what you need.

He kisses like he's trying to kill you, open-mouthed and hungry and allowing no room for breath. His hands grip your arms just roughly enough to remind you that he could shatter them if he felt the need. And that just makes you angrier rather than afraid, because he's mocking you with such a tiny gesture, telling you _here, you stupid child, I'll hold back because I know you're not a real threat._

The desk between you two keeps you from making any deeper ill-advised decisions. You kiss him until it's all you can do not to scream rage against his mouth, and then you yank away and headbutt him hard in the chin.

He reels back and laughs like you've told the funniest joke he's heard all week, the sound rolling over you in waves just as thick as fear miasma. "I got things to do," he says. "Think about it. Next time I won't leave so much skin unbruised."

He leaves you licking blood off your swollen lips and smoothing down your hair. Absyth steps out of the way and enters the office once Makara has cleared the hallway, leaning against the doorframe.

"Should I go kill him?" he asks. "I'll go kill him if you want."

"Do me a bigger favor," you say, booting up your computer. "Never, ever breathe a word of this to anyone. _Anyone._ Unless for some reason you find yourself compelled by the court. Understand?"

Absyth smells an awful lot like incredulity, but to his credit all he says is, "Breathe a word of what?"

You're good at calculating odds. You know there's almost no sequence of events where this turns out well. You can't screw the Grand Highblood and keep him under your thumb at the same time - you have to choose one or the other, and Makara is a sickness in you, a poison that takes root every time you try to let go. If you run down this path, you lose your control and he wins. Game over, end of story.

On the other hand, he also scratches an itch that no one else has ever been able to. The only girl who ever came close is long gone now. He burrows deep into the most twisted parts of you, the sick parts that you can't even consciously acknowledge, and yanks like he's separating the rotten fruit from the good.

It's a heady feeling. Being a hundred percent in control all the time is so fucking tiring.

But there's nowhere you can afford the loss of control less than with him. That's how he gets you. And there's too fucking much at stake to let him win.

You use your old Trollian for private communications, rather than official channels that might be watched. Everyone who matters has this handle anyway. You open a chat with Aradia Megido and begin to type.

GC: GU3SS WHO N33DS 4N 4USP1S|

Pause. Consider. Backspace. Open a different chat.

GC: SO 4NYW4Y   
GC: M4K4R4 1S GO1NG TO B3 4 PROBL3M   
CG: FUCK.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone has their own agenda: the fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is entirely pesterlogs

CG: WHAT KIND OF PROBLEM ARE WE TALKING?   
GC: 4 PROBL3M OF TH3 "T3R3Z1 TH1NKS 1T'S 4 PROBL3M SO YOU SHOULD B3 V3RY CONC3RN3D" V4R13TY   
CG: FUCK.   
CG: WHAT HAPPENED?   
CG: DID HE MESSAGE YOU?   
GC: NOP3!   
GC: H3 D1D M3 ON3 B3TT3R   
GC: H3 1S L34V1NG MY COURTBLOCK 4S W3 SP34K   
CG: . . . HE CAME TO COURT?   
CG: ABOUT *WHAT*?   
CG: I DON'T THINK HE'S FUCKING LEFT THE CITADEL SINCE WE ASCENDED.   
GC: H3 JUST W4NT3D TO T4LK   
GC: D1DN'T 3V3N G3T TO S33 M3 K1CK TH3 G3N3R4L'S 4SS   
GC: D1D YOU S33 M3 K1CK TH3 G3N3R4L'S 4SS BTW   
CG: YOU MEAN DID I SEE SOMEONE TRY TO ASSASSINATE YOU FOR LIKE THE SEVENTIETH TIME THIS PERIGREE?   
CG: YEAH IT'S ALL OVER THE FEEDS.   
GC: 1 4M 4 B4D4SS   
GC: BOW B3FOR3 M3   
CG: YOU'RE SOMETHING, ALL RIGHT.   
CG: YOU'RE LITERALLY NOT BOTHERED AT ALL ARE YOU.   
CG: YOU'RE JUST LIKE OH YEAH NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE WHATEVER, ANYWAY ONTO WHATEVER INANE CASE I WANT TO RUB MY TONGUE ALL OVER THIS TIME! BETTER HOPE MY PAPERS AREN'T POISONED!   
GC: OH K4RK4T G1V3 M3 SOM3 CR3D1T   
GC: 1 DO 4LLOW MYS3LF 4 MOM3NT TO POP B1G BOTTL3S WH3N 1 W1N B3FOR3 MOV1NG ONTO TH3 N3XT 1N4N3 C4S3   
GC: BUT W3'R3 G3TT1NG OFF TOP1C   
CG: YEAH, YOU'RE RIGHT.   
CG: LET'S STOP TALKING ABOUT HOW YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY GOING TO DIE IN EVERY REGARD, AND EVERYONE IN THE UNIVERSE AGREES WITH THIS BATSHIT DOOMSDAY PROPHECY. YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO BE A DOOMSDAY PROPHET TO COME UP WITH THIS BATSHIT DOOMSDAY PROPHECY.   
CG: ONTO THE ORIGINAL TOPIC OF CONVERSATION!   
CG: OH LOOK: HOW YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY GOING TO DIE IN EVERY REGARD, AND EVERYONE IN THE UNIVERSE AGREES WITH THIS BATSHIT DOOMSDAY PROPHECY.   
CG: WHAT THE FUCK DID GAMZEE SAY TO YOU.   
GC: 1 GOT TH3 S3NS3 TH4T H3 W4S M1LDLY D1SPL34S3D >:[   
CG: TEREZI, CUT THE SHIT.   
CG: WE'RE BOTH TOO BUSY TO PLAY CRYPTIC GAMES WITH EACH OTHER, OK, SKIP THE DRAMATIC BUILDUP AND MONOLOGUE AND JUST TELL ME WHAT'S UP.   
GC: H3 TH1NKS TH3 COURTS 4R3 SL1GHT1NG H1M 4ND TH3 CHURCH   
GC: WH1CH 1S 4BSOLUT3LY TRU3   
GC: 1T WOULDN'T MATTER AND 1'D PUT 4S1D3 MY PR1D3 TO N3GOT14T3 W1TH H1M   
GC: 3XC3PT TH4T 1 DON'T TH1NK H3'S TOO...   
GC: 3N4MOR3D W1TH PROGR3SS1V1SM   
GC: SO TO SP34K   
CG: WHICH MEANS?   
GC: H3'S P1SS3D 4BOUT TH3 SL4V3 R3P4R4T1ONS 4ND 1NCR34S1NG 1LL3G4L1TY OF MURD3R   
GC: B3C4US3 R3L1G1ON   
CG: OH HELL NO.   
CG: I THOUGHT HE WAS ONE OF OURS.   
CG: I MEAN, I THOUGHT HE WAS ON OUR SIDE?? HE ALLIED WITH US.   
GC: 1 TH1NK WH3N 1T COM3S TO M4K4R4   
GC: 1T'S B3ST NOT TO 4SSUM3 YOU UND3RST4ND WH3R3 H1S 4LL3G14NC3 L13S   
GC: H3'S 4LW4YS B33N 4N 1NFUR14T1NGLY UNPR3D1CT4BL3 OPPON3NT   
CG: ARE YOU IN DANGER?   
CG: YOU NEED TO UP YOUR SECURITY DETAIL. YOU CAN'T HAVE UNSUPERVISED MEETINGS WITH HIM.   
CG: DO YOU THINK HE'D TRY TO HARM YOU, OR DOES HE CARE TOO MUCH ABOUT HIS STANDING WITH )(IR?   
CG: I HAVEN'T TALKED TO HIM IN SO LONG AND I CAN'T -   
CG: I'VE NEVER BEEN A GOOD JUDGE OF CHARACTER WHERE HE'S CONCERNED.   
GC: 1 DO NOT TH1NK H3'S PL4NN1NG TO K1LL M3   
GC: 1 TH1NK H3'S GO1NG TO TRY TO M4N1PUL4T3 H1S W4Y 1NTO TH3 COURT 1N OTH3R W4YS   
CG: HAH, LIKE THAT'S EVER GOING TO HAPPEN. YOU HATE HIS GUTS.   
GC: Y3P   
CG: . . .   
CG: OH   
CG: ***HELL***   
CG: NO   
CG: DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE.   
GC: YOU'V3 B33N TYP1NG OV3R TH3R3 FOR 4 WH1L3 1'M 4NT1C1P4T1NG TH3 3SS4Y W1TH B4T3D BR34TH   
GC: BUT CONS1D3R:   
GC: WH4T 1F 1 4LR34DY D1D?   
CG: LET THE RECORD SHOW THAT I JUST GROANED SO LOUDLY PSII ASKED IF I'M TRYING TO PASS A KIDNEY STONE.   
CG: PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN'T.   
GC: 1T W4S ONLY 4 K1SS   
GC: (HOW D1D 1T 3ND UP L1K3 TH1S)   
CG: GET AN AUSPISTICE.   
CG: IMMEDIATELY.   
CG: I'M NOT FUCKING PLAYING AROUND HERE. YOU GET AN AUSPISTICE OR I TELL )(IR AND SHE COURT ORDERS YOU TO GET AN AUSPISTICE.   
GC: 1 4M F41RLY SUR3 TH3R3'S V3RY L1TTL3 L3G4L PR3C3D3NT FOR COURT ORD3R3D QU4DR4NT M3D14T1ON   
CG: GREAT! WE CAN ADD THAT TO THE LIST OF GROUNDBREAKING PRECEDENTS WE'RE SETTING! I'M SO PROUD OF US, ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR EVERYONE!   
GC: C4LM DOWN, 1 4M GO1NG TO F1ND 4N 4USP1ST1C3   
GC: 1 DON'T SUPPOS3 YOU'D CONS1D3R 1T?   
CG: NOT A FUCKING CHANCE.   
CG: WELL. OKAY. IF I WAS THE LAST PERSON IN THE UNIVERSE AVAILABLE, ALRIGHT, I'D DO IT. JUST TO KEEP YOU TWO FROM RIPPING EACH OTHER APART AND TAKING THE REMNANTS OF THE GALAXY WITH YOU.   
CG: BUT IF I'M YOUR FIRST CHOICE? NOT A FUCKING CHANCE. I WOULD RATHER SWALLOW MY OWN FECES, SHIT THAT HORRIFIC CONCOCTION OUT, AND SWALLOW IT AGAIN.   
CG: IT MIGHT ACTUALLY BE THE WORST IDEA YOU'VE EVER HAD. ASHEN DOESN'T WORK IF YOU HAVE THE KIND OF QUADRANT HISTORY I DO WITH BOTH PARTIES.   
GC: QU4DR4NT H1STORY FROM 44444G3S 4GO THOUGH   
CG: IT'S STILL HISTORY.   
CG: I REFUSE TO BELIEVE YOU'RE SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING ME AS AN AUSPISTICE OPTION. I MEAN YOUR ROMANTIC HISTORY IS ILL ADVISED AND DISASTROUS, BUT YOU'VE AT LEAST GOT A WORKING ENOUGH UNDERSTANDING OF INTERMEDIARY RELATIONSHIPS TO KNOW THE ODDS POINT MORE TOWARD IMPLOSION THAN RECONCILIATION IF I GET INVOLVED WITH THIS.   
CG: PLEASE TELL ME YOU'VE GOT OTHER OPTIONS, AND TELL ME WHAT YOU NEED FROM ME POLITICALLY SPEAKING.   
GC: 1 W4S GO1NG TO 4SK 4R4D14   
CG: GOOD CHOICE.   
GC: YOU TH1NK?   
CG: YEAH.   
CG: SHE KNOWS BOTH OF YOU WELL ENOUGH. SHE'S BORNE WITNESS TO EVERY DISASTROUS FUCKUP CLIFF EDGE YOU'VE TEETERED ON OVER THE SWEEPS. SHE'S NOT SO NATURALLY INCLINED TO MEDDLING, BUT SHE DOES KNOW HOW TO DO WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE. SHE DOESN'T TAKE SHIT AND SHE WON'T LET YOU FALL APART.   
CG: GET A HOLD OF HER, SEE IF SHE'S BUSY.   
CG: I'M SURE SHE CAN PUT HER VARIOUS PROJECTS ASIDE IF YOU LEAD WITH, "THE FATE OF THE GALAXY RESTS IN YOUR HANDS."   
CG: WHICH, NOT TO BE DRAMATIC, IT PROBABLY DOES.   
CG: I'M NOT SURE YOU'RE CONCEPTUALIZING EXACTLY HOW WRONG THIS CAN GO.   
GC: 1 4M CONC3PTU4L1Z1NG 1T   
GC: TH4T'S WH4T'S G1V1NG M3 TH3 STR3NGTH TO STOP 1T NOW 1N TH3 F1RST PL4C3   
GC: BUT YOU KNOW TH4T 3SS4Y YOU W3R3 WR1T1NG 4BOUT WHY 1T'S 4 B4D 1D34 TO GO 4FT3R H1M BL4CK?   
GC: TYP3 1T FOR M3   
CG: YOU'RE GIVING ME PERMISSION TO YELL AT YOU?   
GC: DON'T W4ST3 TH1S GOLD3N OPPORTUN1TY   
CG: HOLY SHIT, THIS IS THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE.   
CG: ALL RIGHT, FIRST OF ALL LET'S GET INTO THE HISTORY BETWEEN YOU TWO. YOU'VE BEEN SKIRTING AROUND THE BLACK QUADRANT FOR AS LONG AS I'VE KNOWN YOU, AND IT IS ALWAYS AN EPIC DISASTER. YOU DON'T USE THE BLACK QUADRANT FOR ITS INTENDED FUCKING PURPOSE. YOU'RE FUCKING IRRESPONSIBLE WITH IT.   
CG: NOT TO GET ALL DEEP AND PSYCHOLOGICAL ON YOU, BUT YOU USE THE BLACK QUAD TO WAGE UNWINNABLE WARS INSTEAD OF HAVE A HEALTHY RIVALRY. YOU HATE HIM BECAUSE YOU CAN'T CHANGE HIM, BUT EVERY TIME YOU DO THIS HE ENDS UP CHANGING YOU. IN AN IDEAL BLACK ROMANCE, THE PARTNERS WOULD ORBIT EACH OTHER LIKE TWIN MOONS, WITH EQUAL PUSH AND PULL. YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO PUSH EACH OTHER TO BE BETTER, TO USE THE OTHER AS A JUMPING OFF POINT TO FIX YOUR OWN FLAWS AND TO ITCH VIOLENT URGES. YOU'VE ONLY EVER USED THE QUADRANT TO HURT YOURSELF, WHICH, NEWSFLASH, IS NOT ITS INTENDED PURPOSE!   
CG: AND HE'S NOT EXACTLY ONE TO CARE ABOUT THAT. HE'S FUCKED UP, TEREZI. HE LIKES TO SEE HOW FAR HE CAN PUSH YOU AND SEE IF HE CAN MAKE YOU SNAP. A HEALTHY BLACK RIVALRY IS BUILT UPON MUTUAL RESPECT, AND HE DOESN'T RESPECT YOU. IT SOUNDS LIKE RIGHT NOW HE HATES YOUR AUTHORITY MORE THAN EVER, WHICH GIVES HIM MORE LEVERAGE AND MOTIVATION TO FUCK YOU UP.   
CG: WHICH BRINGS ME TO THE CURRENT CIRCUMSTANCES, HOLY FUCKING SHIT. YOU'RE THE GRAND HIGH LEGISLACERATOR. HE'S THE GRAND HIGHBLOOD. YOU AREN'T SEVEN SWEEPS OLD AND PLAYING REDGLARE PLANETSIDE ANYMORE. YOUR ACTIONS HAVE REALER CONSEQUENCES NOW THAN THEY EVER HAVE. IF HE'S TRYING TO GET YOU IN HIS BLACK QUADRANT IT'S SO THAT HE CAN ESTABLISH POWER OVER YOU, AND THEREFORE ESTABLISH POWER OVER THE COURTS, AND THAT'S GOING TO FUCK SHIT UP.   
CG: THAT IS GOING TO FUCK SO MUCH SHIT UP. THAT IS GOING TO FUCK LITERALLY ALL OF THE SHIT UP. IF HE'S NOT GOING TO REFORM THE CHURCH, AND HE'S GOING TO FIGHT TO STICK TO THE ANTIQUATED TERRIFYING MURDER HAPPY BLOODBATH CLOWN BULLSHIT, HE *CAN'T HAVE POWER IN THE COURTS.* HE JUST CAN'T. IT'S A POLITICAL MOVE THAT RUINS YOU AND EVERYTHING WE'VE BEEN WORKING FOR.   
CG: IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW ANGRY YOU ARE AT HIM OR YOURSELF, OR HOW MANY ITCHES YOU NEED SCRATCHED, OR HOW BADLY YOU WANT TO HURT YOURSELF. IT'S NOT JUST ABOUT YOU. IT'S NOT EVEN JUST ABOUT THE PEOPLE CLOSEST TO YOU. IT'S ABOUT THE WHOLE WORLD.   
CG: ABOUT ~*~JUSTICE~*~, IF YOU WILL.   
CG: SO LIKE, KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF. MESSAGE ARADIA.   
CG: SO MUCH OF ME WANTS TO BELIEVE THAT YOU MISINTERPRETED AND HE'S NOT GOING TO BE AS BIG A PROBLEM AS YOU ANTICIPATE, BUT I TRUST YOUR JUDGMENT. YOU'RE RIGHT ABOUT HIM MORE OFTEN THAN I AM.   
CG: IN CONCLUSION, WHAT YOU ACTUALLY NEED IS A PALE LAY, AND IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANY PROSPECTS IN MIND I WILL *PERSONALLY* PAY FOR A LONG SESSION WITH A HIGH END PALE HOOKER. GOD DAMN.   
GC: H4V3 YOU 3V3R CONS1D3R3D TH4T 1F TH3 S3COND SUFF3R3R TH1NG H4DN'T P4NN3D OUT YOU'D H4V3 4 THR1V1NG C4R33R OPPORTUN1TY 4S 4 P4L3 HOOK3R?   
CG: I CRY ABOUT THE LOSS OF THAT FUTURE AT LEAST ONCE A WEEK.   
CG: PATTING ASSHOLE FACES GIVES ME WAY FEWER MIGRAINES THAN DIPLOMATIC ENGAGEMENT.   
CG: ANYWAY, MESSAGE ARADIA.   
CG: I'M GOING TO GET A HOLD OF GAMZEE.   
GC: 4R3 YOU SUR3 TH4T'S 4 GOOD 1D34   
CG: BETTER ME THAN YOU.

\--gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling apocalypseArisen [AA]\--  
GC: GU3SS WHO N33DS 4N 4USP1ST1C3  
AA: is it you?  
GC: HOLY SH1T  
GC: 1T'S 4LMOST L1K3 YOU'R3.........  
AA: psychic  
GC: .................  
AA: psychic  
GC: ...........  
GC: .......  
AA: psychic  
GC: ...  
GC: ........  
GC: .................  
AA: oh my fucking god  
GC: PSYCH1C >:]  
AA: and who's the lucky un-pitchmate?  
GC: T4K3 4 W1LD GU3SS  
AA: oh boy  
AA: is it a certain purpleblood  
GC: POSS1BLY  
AA: and are you propositioning me?  
GC: YOU T3ND TO B3 L3V3L H34D3D  
GC: SO TH3 SHORT 4NSW3R 1S Y3S  
GC: TH3 LONG 4NSW3R 1S PL34S3  
AA: well i'm not sure what aradia megido you know who's ever been even remotely "level headed"  
AA: but in this case i can probably serve your purpose!  
AA: the question is  
AA: does he want me to be your auspistice  
GC: TO B3 HON3ST  
GC: 1 DOUBT 1T  
AA: well  
AA: that will make things interesting

\--carcinoGeneticist [CG] has begun trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]\--  
CG: PLEASE TELL ME YOU STILL CHECK THIS ACCOUNT, I'M TRYING TO KEEP OUR PROFESSIONAL LIVES AS FAR AWAY FROM EACH OTHER AS POSSIBLE.  
CG: NOT THAT MY OFFICIAL COMMUNICATIONS AREN'T PRIVATE BUT I AM SO FUCKING FREAKED OUT BY THE IDEA OF THE PRESS HAVING A FIELD DAY WITH "SECOND SUFFERER AND GRAND HIGHBLOOD ARE BROS THE PROPHECIES ARE TRUE THE END TIMES ARE IMPENDING" AS WELL AS "SECOND SUFFERER AND GRAND HIGHBLOOD: GOSSIP, QUADRANT THEORIES, AND MORE!"  
CG: NOT THAT IT'S NOT FUCKING HILARIOUS THAT US SPEAKING WOULD MAKE HEADLINES THESE NIGHTS. AHAHA, GO US, BEING FUCKING FAMOUS FOR DOING ALMOST LITERALLY NOTHING.  
CG: WELL, ME ANYWAY. YOU DEFINITELY DID SHIT.  
CG: YOU KNOW WHAT? I'M GOING TO STOP TALKING BEFORE I SHOVE FEET I DON'T EVEN OWN DOWN MY PROTEIN CHUTE. HOPEFULLY YOU'LL GET A HOLD OF ME BEFORE I SLEEP IN THE MORNING.  
TC: to what do i owe the pleasure, my most righteous invertebrother?  
CG: OH, HOLY SHIT, HI.  
CG: WE NEED TO TALK POLITICS.  
TC: SEEMS MIGHTY MOTHERFUCKING SUSPICIOUS NOT TO USE YOUR POLITICAL CHANNEL TO DISCUSS POLITICS, DON'T IT?  
TC: you got shit you need to be up and hiding from the public?  
CG: YEAH.  
CG: SO IF WE COULD KEEP THIS ON THE DOWN LOW, THAT WOULD BE AWESOME.  
TC: YOU'VE COME TO CRUSADE AT ME ON PYROPE'S BEHALF.  
TC: don't front with me like i ain't got a pan in the know how.  
TC: I AIN'T AS HUNKERED DOWN AS YOU'D LIKE TO SLEEP SOUND IN YOUR COON DREAMING AND WISHING.  
TC: and i got motherfucking debts to pay.  
CG: NO, ACTUALLY.  
CG: I MEAN YEAH SHE MESSAGED ME AND THAT PROMPTED THIS CONVERSATION.  
CG: BUT THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOUR BEEF WITH HER. AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED YOU AND SHE CAN HASH THAT OUT TOGETHER. I'M NOT TOUCHING THAT SHIT WITH A TEN FOOT POLE. IN FACT IF YOU COULD KEEP ANY MENTION OF WHATEVER FEELINGS YOU DO OR DON'T HAVE FOR HER AS FAR AWAY FROM ME AS POSSIBLE, THAT WOULD BE FANTASTIC, SINCE THE WHOLE ORDEAL GROSSES ME OUT.  
TC: IF YOU AIN'T HERE TO BITCH ABOUT WHERE I PUT MY FRONDS, WHAT'S YOUR PURPOSE?  
CG: IT'S PRETTY SIMPLE, REALLY.  
CG: AND NOTHING I COULD EVER SAY TO TEREZI, OR TO THE EMPRESS.  
CG: AND NOTHING I COULD EVER TYPE ON THE OFFICIAL CHANNELS.  
CG: SO LISTEN CAREFULLY, BECAUSE YOU'LL NEVER HEAR ME REPEAT THIS OUT LOUD.  
CG: I'M PRETTY SURE YOU AND I ARE ON THE SAME SIDE.

AA: give me a handle on the current situation   
GC: 1'M NOT SUR3 W3 N33D TO PULL TH3 P4N1C PLUG R1GHT NOW   
GC: OR B3 V3RY DR4M4T1C 4BOUT 1T   
GC: W3 K1SS3D   
GC: 1N 4 R4TH3R H34T3D F4SH1ON   
GC: 4FT3R H3 THR34T3N3D MY L1F3 4ND 1 TOLD H1M 1 D1DN'T C4R3 4BOUT 4NT4GON1Z1NG H1S BULLSH1T CLOWN R3L1G1ON   
GC: NO B1G D34L   
AA: who initiated the kiss?   
GC: H4RD TO S4Y   
GC: TH4T'S NOT CRYPT1C L4W SP34K 1 L3G1T COULDN'T T3LL   
GC: 1T W4S MUTU4L 1 GU3SS?   
AA: were there any witnesses?   
GC: ON3   
GC: LOY4L TO M3 THOUGH   
GC: H3 WON'T S4Y 4 WORD   
AA: all right   
AA: i assume that you'll only want our auspisticism public if the black feelings become public first   
GC: Y34H L3T'S CROSS TH4T BR1DG3 1F W3 COM3 TO 1T   
AA: do you think he will approach you again soon   
GC: H3 D1DN'T M4K3 4N 4PPO1NTM3NT TON1GHT   
GC: SO RUD3   
GC: 1F H3 4PPRO4CH3S 4G41N 1T W1LL PROB4BLY NOT B3 BY 4PPO1NTM3NT   
AA: don't stay in a room alone with him unless i am there to mediate   
AA: you and i both know you very well   
AA: i know that you know this is a bad idea   
AA: and i know that you knew that when you kissed him   
AA: i won't condescend to you by explaining things you already know   
AA: but i will say this   
AA: you and i have equal penchants for impulsivity and self destruction   
AA: we both also know how to put those things aside for the greater good of the people we care for   
AA: but gamzee rots you   
AA: he's like an open wound you keep poking just to feel the pain   
AA: until it festers   
AA: i can only be your bandage as long as you let me get between you   
AA: if you choose to throw yourself into this there is not a force in hell that can stop you   
AA: vriska could have   
AA: but she isn't here   
AA: so you need to be responsible for yourself   
GC: 1 KNOW   
AA: i know that all sounds harsh   
AA: i don't mean it to be   
AA: but it's what you need to hear   
AA: if he doesn't want me meddling then my hands will be full enough with him   
AA: i will not auspistice if both affected parties decide they want to ignore my wisdom for what feels good in the moment   
GC: 1 WON'T   
GC: 1 C4N K33P MY BULG3 1N MY P4NTS LONG 3NOUGH TO 4VO1D 4CC1D3NT4LLY PROVOK1NG FULL SC4L3 W4RF4R3 BY S3X   
GC: 1'M NOT SO HOP3L3SS 1 C4N'T M4N4G3 TH4T   
GC: MY PROBL3M 1S TH4T 1 DON'T TH1NK 1 C4N M4K3 4LL TH3 R1GHT D3C1S1ONS BY MYS3LF ON TH1S   
GC: MY JUDGM3NT 1S COMPROM1S3D   
GC: SO TH4T'S WH3R3 YOU COM3 1N   
AA: good   
AA: that i can manage

TC: don't play motherfucking games with me, brother.   
TC: I SEE STRAIGHT THROUGH YOUR SHIT.   
TC: your eyes ain't never hid nothing what you didn't want me to see.   
TC: YOU'VE GOT NO MOTHERFUCKING FAITH.   
TC: you've got no motherfucking understand on to the forces at work.   
TC: YOU AIN'T READY TO BOW THE KNEE TO YOUR GODS AND CONFESS YOUR HERESY IN THE IRONS, SO DON'T PLAY MOTHERFUCKING GAMES.   
TC: i ain't in the fuckin mood.   
CG: LMAO. YEAH, YOU'RE RIGHT, I DEFINITELY HAVEN'T FOUND RELIGION.   
CG: YOU'RE MISUNDERSTANDING ME.   
CG: WE'RE ON THE SAME SIDE IN THAT I THINK YOU NEED MORE POWER IN THE COURTS THAN YOU HAVE RIGHT NOW.   
TC: BULLSHIT.   
CG: IS THAT REALLY SO FUCKING HARD TO COMPREHEND?   
CG: LOOK.   
CG: FEFERI WINS HER CHALLENGE AGAINST FUCK KNOWS HOW MANY ODDS. SHE ASCENDS THE THRONE, BECOMES EMPRESS, GETS A SHIT TON OF POWER. TEREZI USES HER KNOWLEDGE OF THE COURTS AND LEGAL MANIPULATION AND FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES TO SECURE HER PLACE AS GRAND HIGH LEGISLACERATOR, GETS A SHIT TON OF POWER. I... AM HATCHED WITH HERETIC BLOOD, WHICH IS LITERALLY THE ONLY THING I DID, MANAGE NOT TO GET CULLED THANKS TO FEFERI BECOMING THE EMPRESS, AND GET A SHIT TON OF POWER. YOU KILL THE GRAND HIGHBLOOD, WHO WE WERE EXPECTING TO BE THE MOST TERRIFYING ENEMY ANY OF US HAD TO FACE POST-REVOLUTION, AND GET TO SIT IN A CITADEL AS A FIGUREHEAD WITHOUT DOING ANYTHING?   
CG: PEOPLE TAKE NOTICE.   
CG: ESPECIALLY IF YOU GET ANTSY.   
CG: YOUR HORSESHIT RELIGION IS SO INGRAINED INTO OUR SOCIETY THAT PEOPLE WILL PANIC IF THEY THINK FEF'S TRYING TO DISMANTLE IT. PEOPLE ARE ALREADY PANICKING ABOUT THE SLAVE REPARATIONS WITHOUT BRINGING RELIGION INTO IT AT ALL.   
CG: WE NEED TO BE ON THE SAME SIDE HERE. I'M NOT ABOUT TO END UP IN A WAR BETWEEN MESSIAH CULTISTS AND SUFFERISTS. HELL TO THE FUCK NO.   
TC: hah. wouldn't that be some sweet serendipity, brother?   
TC: YOU AND ME POISED UP PROPER BY OUR ARMIES?   
TC: heading our own personal holy war.   
TC: AND THE BLOOD RUN SO THICK THROUGH THE MOTHERFUCKING STREETS YOUR BOOTS STICK TO THE STONES.   
TC: all sweet metal tang and screams like they ain't got their know how on to their proper places.   
TC: LIKE THEY THINK THEY ALL AIN'T GONNA MOTHERFUCKING KNEEL IN THE END.   
TC: pull a repeat of history for old times sake.   
TC: YOU AND ME AND THE IRONS.   
TC: and see whose religion wins then.   
CG: OKAY, HONESTLY HALF THE EMAILS I GET NIGHTLY LOOK ABOUT LIKE THAT SO I'M PRETTY MUCH IMMUNE TO YOUR ATTEMPTS AT FREAKING ME THE FUCK OUT.   
CG: ALSO IT'S NOT MY FAULT THERE'S A BULLSHIT CULT BUILT AROUND MY BLOOD AND I HATE THEM ABOUT AS MUCH AS YOU DO, HOLY FUCKING SHIT. THEY'RE OBNOXIOUS ASSHATS WHO WOULDN'T KNOW GENUINE PROPHECY FROM THEIR OWN WASTE SPHINCTERS IF THEY WERE BENDING OVER BACKWARDS WITH A HAND MIRROR.   
CG: THERE'S NOT GOING TO BE A WAR.   
CG: I'M NOT SURE YOU FULLY UNDERSTAND HOW FAR I'LL GO TO KEEP YOU FROM TEARING THIS PLACE APART.   
TC: LET ME TELL YOU A SECRET, BROTHER.   
TC: it doesn't motherfucking matter.   
TC: OUR ENTIRE WORLD IS BUILT ON THE BACK OF A COSMIC JOKE.   
TC: an endless motherfuckin punchline that rings and rings and rings until splinters swallow it whole.   
TC: I KNOW THINGS YOU WILL NEVER MOTHERFUCKING KNOW.   
TC: it don't matter what you want.   
TC: AND IT DON'T MATTER WHAT YOU'RE OWED.   
TC: so trust me when i say,   
TC: THIS WORLD IS MINE.   
TC: and i will reap what i   
TC: MOTHERFUCKING   
TC: sow. :o)   
CG: TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT, THEN.   
CG: TELL ME WHAT YOUR ENDGAME IS.   
CG: YOU LOVE CHAOS BUT YOU PRIORITIZE CERTAIN KINDS OF CHAOS FOR A REASON.   
CG: EVEN IF THE REASONS SEEM INCOMPREHENSIBLE AT FIRST.   
TC: DON'T ASK QUESTIONS WHEN YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE MOTHERFUCKING ANSWERS.   
CG: FINE. DON'T TELL ME WHAT YOU'RE PLANNING.   
CG: DON'T TELL ME WHAT YOU'VE SEEN.   
CG: JUST TELL ME WHAT I CAN DO TO INFLUENCE THE OUTCOME. I NEED TO KEEP PEOPLE SAFE.   
TC: now you're talking.   
TC: BETRAYAL IS A HEAVY PRICE TO PAY TO KEEP BLOOD IN YOUR BROTHER'S AND SISTER'S BODIES.   
TC: are you listening yet?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spinning out of control

“Pyrope.”

Whenever Absyth wakes you like this, while you’re drooling over the side of your 'coon, it’s a bad sign. The last time he did was because the First Imperial Helmsman tried to kill the Empress. You managed to resolve that particular conflict to everyone’s satisfaction, but the edge in Absyth’s voice now makes you think you’re not going to like whatever he says next.

You give yourself five full seconds to enjoy the comforting embrace of the slime before you open your eyes and say, “What?”

“Something’s happened.”

You drag yourself over the lip of the ‘coon and scrub off with a towel, fishing for clean clothes. “Spare me the useless theatrics.”

“A coordinated lowblood killing.”

Your stomach swoops. “How many.”

“They're saying ten thousand that they know of. But it appears to span several solar systems. All killed the same way. All rust and brown. Some murdered in hives with higherblooded clade members who remained untouched.”

“There’s enough of us that thousands of lowbloods die by the minute. What makes this newsworthy?”

“Because it appears that in several cases the trolls’ quadrantmates were compelled to kill them. And everything was executed within just a few minutes. And the reported death toll is expected to rise as more people wake up and find…”

“Ten thousand dead trolls,” you say, yanking a shift and pants on. “Just a few minutes apart. Ten thousand killers.”

“Yes.”

“Make that ten thousand and one killers. I’m going to rip him limb from limb.” You clench your fists. “Fuck.”

“The Second Sufferer is doing a press conference.”

“Turn it on.”

The telescreen in the corner of your block flicks on, fizzing static over you before Karkat’s voice filters through the speakers. It’s tinny and hollow. You can’t tell how much is due to the shitty sound system and how much is his exhaustion.

“...understand that the perpetrators did this to spread fear. No singular person or group has claimed responsibility. We will not point fingers until we have more information. Rest assured we are going to put all available resources into investigating this tragedy. We know very little right now, but will know more soon - it’s certain that security cameras on the various planets picked up clues. When we piece together who’s responsible, the responsible party will be brought to justice.

“But I can’t emphasize this enough - whoever did this did this to frighten lowbloods and their loved ones. They want to make you feel unsafe. They want to use this as a chip to prove that your Empire does not serve you as we’ve promised to. And we need to stay united as a people if we want to keep them from winning.”

A pause. “Questions?”

A journalist pipes up without being asked. “Is the Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs responsible for this massacre?”

“I’m not going to damn an entire religion five minutes into an investigation so that you people can write sensationalist headlines. Fuck off.” Karkat sounds so tired. You wouldn't be surprised if he, like you, has just struggled out of his 'coon. “When I say we need to stand together, I mean all of us. Religious, nonreligious, highblood, lowblood. We all need to avoid bowing to pressure. If members of the Church did this, they did so in order to paint every religious troll with the brush of a murderer. If they didn’t, then you’re running a smear campaign for no goddamn reason.”

“But the Church firmly endorses lowblood subjugation and the Grand Highblood has never formally denounced…”

“Guess who’s not here to debate religion? It’s me! That’s enough questions, sorry to cut things short, I have to go help with the investigation - you’ll be updated as more information is available.”

The journalists all break into a cacophony of questions and shouting, blurred enough that you can’t pick out individual words. Absyth smells like all the tension you’re sure is written across your face.

“He knows the Highblood did it,” he says finally.

“Of course he does.” You run your fingers through the tangle of your hair a few times to smooth it, double check that you’re fully clothed, and stride into the hallway.

You live in a respiteblock that’s attached to court at large, because you’re handfasted to your work, and because sometimes you’re woken up during emergencies like this. Even so, things outside aren’t as chaotic as you initially expect. Just a few trolls moving back and forth, the way they always are at this time of day. You suppose it’s a good thing. The world hasn’t yet burned down over news that just broke five minutes ago.

“Get me a line to the Grand Highblood,” you snap at a passing olive.

She jumps and salutes you. “We’ve already been trying, ma’am. No luck so far."

“Aradia Megido, then. Rustblood historian stationed on the colony Ze’eva. Tell her it’s urgent that I talk to her.”

“Got it.”

Absyth waits until the olive is out of earshot before speaking. “You think she was one of the ones hit?”

“No. I need her to set my head straight,” you say, and break into a run after the woman.

\---

“Did you see?” you say into the phone receiver by way of greeting.

“Yes.” Aradia’s breath is quiet, measured. “Are you alone?”

“Yes. Are you? This should be a secure line.”

“Sollux is with me.”

“He can stay.”

“I’m assuming you’re calling me because you’re thinking what I am. What every troll with half a functioning pan is thinking.” Aradia pauses. “Unless, of course, you’re just calling for my historical expertise.”

“Is it narcissistic to think he did this to get under my skin?”

“No. But I don’t believe he meant it to get under the skin of Terezi Pyrope. I think he meant it to get under the skin of the Grand High Legislacerator, and the Empress, and the Second Sufferer, and all of their respective advisers.”

“Do you think he’s going to claim credit?”

“If he does then he gives the people an enemy to rally against. If he doesn’t, he sows more nebulous fear. I suppose it depends on what game he thinks he’s playing.”

“If he claims credit then he polarizes the people and forces the Empire to denounce the Messiahs. If he doesn’t then he has the fun of watching people theorize. There’s a slight possibility that he ordered the attacks just to denounce them for… fuck, I can’t think of a motivation for that.” You sink into the seat behind your desk. “Usually the paths are clear cut, but every time I think I understand him I get the rug pulled out from under me. I’m tired of pretending I have the answers just to find out I was wrong all along, but if I’m in the dark then is there fucking anyone who knows what they’re doing?”

“Calm down. Take a few deep breaths.” Aradia hums. “I still fully intend to be your auspistice. You’re trying to define your next course of action before you have enough information to narrow down any of the paths. Wait until the investigation turns up more information. Talk to the Empress and see what she wants to do. Don’t speak to Gamzee.”

“I’m worried if I don’t talk to him then he’ll do something to force my hand.”

“This _is_ his attempt to force your hand. He wants to make you move first. You can’t panic now. You have the weight of the entire Empire behind you. The only wrong decision you can make is to act too quickly. Keep your options open.”

“I’m going to have to make a statement.”

“And you’ll do fine, like you always have. Terezi, you always knew there was going to be a push back against this Empire. This will pass.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Okay. You’re right. Of course you’re right. Sorry for waking you.”

“I was already awake. And there’s no need to apologize for being less than coordinated. I haven’t yet forgotten that you’re a troll before a harbinger of chaos.”

Your lips twitch, threatening to pull into a smile that’s a hell of a lot more genuine than your trademark grin. “There’s historical precedent for this. I know there is, I spend most of my free time studying history. But the Church has never been on the receiving end of a prosecution.”

“Terezi?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember what you did to take absolute power out of Her Imperious Reformation’s hands?” Aradia says. “Because you’re going to need to do that again.”

“I know. It’s going to be harder than you make it sound, though. I only wrangled absolute power away from the Empress because we were conspiring behind closed doors. The crowd gasps in shock.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Tell me about the historical significance of these killings.”

“Well, historical significance would be operating under the assumption that the Grand Highblood did in fact orchestrate the killings. What are the chances that he didn’t?”

“It’s possible that it wasn’t him,” you say, “but if it wasn’t, there’s a hell of a lot of coincidences popping up at once. I’d say the chances that he’s involved are much higher than not, even if he didn’t singlehandedly orchestrate this. I’ll revise my opinion as I receive more information.”

“If it was the Church…” Aradia trails off, silent for a while, apparently pondering which parts of her tales are important. “If it was the Church, then the intended meaning probably dates back to pre-Summoner times. There’s no one alive who could reliably tell us whether our historical records are accurate, save maybe the First Imperial Helmsman. His knowledge might turn out to be important. The libraries where I am could house relevant information too, I'll look into it.”

“I sure hope the Helmsman isn’t mysteriously the key to all of this,” you say, “because he and Karkat are both going to be super pissed if that’s the case.”

“Mmm. He might be a target on account of being the slave that your original reparation ruling hinged on. I doubt this is all about him, though. Pre-Summoner, when adults and wigglers all lived on Alternia together, hunting lowbloods for sport was common with subjuggulators. Seadwellers participated too, to a certain extent, but ritualized hunting and killing was generally Church territory.”

“Right. And that mirrors this how?”

“It was a way to terrify lowbloods into staying in line. A way to purify the planet of those who weren’t fast enough, strong enough, or intelligent enough to outrun the clowns. A way of feeding on fear, and a way of entertaining themselves. And they often used psychic influence to make lowbloods or their quadrantmates kill each other. It just adds another level to the terror. And entertainment.”

“So it’s either the Church or someone imitating the Church for fuck knows what purpose.”

“Several thousand is a startlingly low death toll, considering historical context. Thousands upon thousands of lowbloods might have been slaughtered on Old Alternia. The most egregious example of blood hunting was with the limebloods, and, well. We know what happened to them.”

“Fuck the Church.”

“Fuck the Church,” she agrees. “The reason a killing like this - a drop in the ocean, considering our numbers - is noteworthy is because it was so well executed. Thousands of deaths in just a few minutes? It’s impressive, in a sick way.”

“Hey.” You smack your forehead. “I just remembered you’re a necropath.”

She snorts. “That hasn’t stopped being a thing.”

“Can you talk to the victims?”

“I’m not sure how many I’ll be able to commune with, or if any of them will have helpful information. But yes, I can try. And hey. I’m your auspistice. I’m the Grand Highblood’s auspistice, whether he knows it or not. You may find that I’m more useful than you expect.”

“I already expect you to be very useful. But I’m going to let you go for now. I need to get a hold of a few other people. And Aradia?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for everything.”

You cut the connection and request an online audio meeting with Her Imperious Reformation, more than a little surprised when it’s approved. You and Feferi may talk nearly every night, but you sort of expected her to have her fronds full.

“Terezi,” she says, forgoing your title entirely. This is a sign that you can do the same for her. Sometimes the two of you need to let the appearances slip for each other, because you’re sure as fuck limited with other people you can be normal trolls around. “I was hoping you’d call.”

“You didn’t call me?”

“I didn’t want to wake you. I have the eeling neither of us is going to be getting much sleep for the next few weeks.”

“That was courteous of you.” You lean back in your chair. “What’s the estimated death toll?”

“Fifty or sixty thousand. We don’t have solid numbers yet.”

“How were they killed?”

“Evisearation.”

“Delightful. What percentage killed by quadrantmates?”

“At least half.”

“That’s going to make finding the real perpetrators a fucking day terror.”

“I know. Do you think calling the conference was premature? Some of my advisers think it’ll make fins worse.”

“Has anyone claimed responsibility yet?”

“No.”

“Have you gotten a hold of Makara?”

“No.”

“Hmm. I think going public was a good plan. Karkat’s good at spinning stories and keeping people from panicking. Most trolls won’t know any of the deceased, or know anyone who knows the deceased. Make this a story about how we won’t put up with terrorism, and how we care about the suffering of lowbloods, even when the death toll isn’t high enough to make a huge dent in the population. Stress that people are safe.”

“All fins I was planning to do alreedy. Thanks for the reassurance.”

“I think whoever did this was banking on you trying to sweep it under the rug to keep the peace. Building up Empire secrets and closed-door conspiracies.”

“I think whoever did this is planning to do it again. Only next time it’ll be bigger. Escalate from a few thousand to the collapse of a planet. Exponential growth.”

“It might have been prudent to wait to go public until you’d completed more of an investigation. With that said, though, getting in front of it is good. All it would take is one blogger spreading rumors about ritual killings to ignite conspiracy theories. And we know how fond trolls are of conspiracy theories under the new regime.”

“At least a lot of their conspiracy theories are mostly correct?”

“I'm not sure that's a good thing. Plus we don’t want to give them a chance to spin wildly inaccurate ones on top of their accurate ones. Not about this. Send me all the information you have on the victims and their clades. Send me any information on perpetrators that you pick up. Have people comb the Internet and see if they can find anything about this attack and any potential future attacks. Keep ahead of the game. And try to get Makara to admit whether he was involved.”

“Karkat says he’s alreedy on that last part.”

You pause. “Was Karkat in contact with him before this happened?”

“Karkat’s alwaves been in contact with him.”

“Recently.”

“How reseantly?”

“The past week or so.”

“I’m not shore. Why?” Feferi’s voice turns sharper. “You aren’t thinking there’s a chance Karkat did somefin?”

“No. If anything I think this is probably my fault.”

“Your fault? Terezi, even you can’t sea everyfin coming.”

“It’s not that. I’m not blaming myself for not seeing it coming.” You shudder. “He came to my courtblock and threatened me. I didn’t take him seriously. Well, I did to a point. I talked to Karkat and Aradia about it. But clearly I didn't take him seriously enough.”

“ _What?_ Tell me exactly what he said.”

“He was angry about the Church being shafted in court. I believe the exact words were, ‘You ain’t the law and if you think you got a leg to stand on I will cut it off.’ So. I mean, assuming this was him. I guess this was his way of showing he means business.”

“What did you say to Karkat and Aradia?”

“Told Karkat he was going to be a problem. Karkat said he was going to talk to him. Asked Aradia to auspistice.”

“It was _black_? When were you going to mention this to me?”

“I was sort of hoping she could auspistice and I’d never have to admit I started chasing this hopbeast down the abyss again?”

“Terezi.” The abject horror in her voice digs into your chest, roots through your bloodpusher and gut, a frantic drum of IfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedup that you haven’t faced in sweeps.

“Yeah, okay," you say, keeping your tone as flippant as you can, "it was a fucking awful decision but I’m taking care of it, okay? Believe me, I’m not going to let him manipulate me. It was over before it started.”

“Terezi,” she says again, softer.

The discomfort sharpens. You pick up on it this time. Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong, beyond the confines of ‘you made out with the guy who might very well turn out to be our archnemesis.’

“What?”

“There’s information we haven’t released to the public yet. Aboat the victims.”

You suddenly feel very, very cold. “Something that warrants saying my name like you’re delivering a death sentence? Did we know any of them? Consider your dramatic suspense properly built and tell me what’s going on.”

Feferi pauses for a second that stretches, clock stopped, planet spun backwards.

“The dead trolls,” she says. “All the identities we’ve matched. Terezi, I’m so sorry. They’re all freed slaves.”

You cut the connection before she can see your expression twist, slam your husktop shut, and scream into your hands.


End file.
